


Shave

by divisionten



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4186089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/pseuds/divisionten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet sheds, and Clank's had enough</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twelvepercentofaplan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvepercentofaplan/gifts).



> I needed a quick break from everything else I’ve been doing, so I just sort of allowed this piece of tooth-rotting fluff to pour from my brain out to paper. I’ll get back to my editing for others and my own stories (two Guardians of the Galaxy fics and “Right Twice a Day” soon; I’m trying to finish my Ratchet and Clank costume for a photoshoot in early July so that’s eating my time like nobody’s business.
> 
> Just needed a little brain melt.
> 
> I’m posting this as-is just to get it out, but I’m passing it off to my beta reader as well, so if errant typos aren’t your thing, wait a few days and I’ll have the edited version up when they get a chance to review.
> 
> No spoilers on this one really, set after Into the Nexus, though.
> 
> Idea came about from the line in “Into the Nexus” about how Ratchet sheds all over their apartment.
> 
> Note for non-sexual nudity. This is purely gen, no pairing or overtones.

Ratchet sat, tail up and stiff against the couch. This meant only one thing- he was concentrating hard, something that rarely happened unless he was repairing something (in which case, being a minimum of one city block away was advisable, two to three recommended), or playing against Al online in  **_Smashup City_ ** (in which case, being a minimum of one city block away was advisable, two to three recommended, especially if Al was winning).

Clank decided to bite the proverbial bullet, despite the telltale signs of an imminent loss and temporary meltdown. He’d had enough of Ratchet’s little ‘presents’ left around the loft, and it was a problem that needed to be solved sooner rather than later.

“Ratchet,” Clank said curtly.

Ratchet looked away from the screen, tail falling slightly. “Mmm?” he asked, almost a hum, but surprisingly not angry at either Al or the controller.

Clank decided it was worth pushing his luck. “Do you have a moment?”

“Just let me help Al take this base and I can log out,” he replied. **_Ah_**. Co-op. That explained the calm, despite the discrepancy in score in the top right of the screen.

“I can wait,” Clank responded, holding one of the offending balls of discarded yellow fluff between his fingers, and rolling it around until it began to felt. Clank heard victory music, and turned up to Ratchet, who logged out to the main lobby and twisted himself around on the couch to get a better view of his small partner in crime.

“What’s up, pal?”

Clank held up the shed fur, now more a long piece of woolen twine in his blocky hand. “Your… tendancy to shed is becoming problematic, Ratchet. You ought to go for a grooming. And I am noticing your fur is thinning out. Having a medibot take a look at your nutritional needs is likely advisable as well.”

“Ah, no, it’s just the end of the season. I’m loosing my winter coat, that’s all,” Ratchet replied absentmindedly. “I really don’t need a haircut. It’ll fall out on its own in the next few weeks.”

“The oils you secrete will attract bugs, no matter how much we clean up after it, Ratchet,” Clank countered, relieved that at least it was not a problem that would need medical attention. The finer details of organic medicine was something he was not entirely familiar with, especially for a species known to be as insular as Lombaxes.

“Then I’ll shower more often. No oil.” Ratchet didn’t shower or bathe often, but, unless he was covered in grease, he did not sweat (and thus, did not attract the odorous bacteria that plagued so many other species into needing a daily cleaning and deodorant).

“And clog the septic system.”

“I’ll put in a drain plug then,” Ratchet replied with an air of annoyance.

“You… do not like having your fur shaved, do you?” Clank replied, noting one of Ratchet’s ears twitch irritably. **_Bingo_**.

“I…” Ratchet paused, shutting the system off entirely, before turning back to Clank. “I **_don’t_** like going to the barbers’.”

“Why not?” Clank replied, as he dropped the fur and walked around the couch, pulling himself up next to Ratchet. “I find an oil change and tune up to be most relaxing. Is it not similar?”

Ratchet wiggled his snout a bit. “Well, for one, I’m not a fan of being in a cutter’s naked while someone shaves my back. Veldinites, if they had hair or fur, had it only on the top of their head. I got sent to a veterinarian as a kid to get a haircut.” Ratchet shuddered.

“Are there not places here that specialize in those who are furred? We could take a ride to Marcadia, if not”

“I’m not going to a Cazar day-spa, there’s still the problem of being... er…  well, unclothed,” Ratchet replied, fur puffing out in serious annoyance, a few tufts coming loose and wafting right off his face.

Ratchet frowned. “I **_do_** need a cut,” he conceded. “At the very least, a brushing.” He snorted a little. “How good are you with a razor?”

Clank grinned with his eyes. “If it means not wading through your fluff all over the floor, I am sure I can learn quickly.”

* * *

 

Clank returned from a quick jaunt to the department store around the corner from their building, bag almost his size in hand.

“Ratchet, I have a tarp, a razor, a wire brush, and better than the Cazar shampoo and conditioner, they actually had some lombax products hidden away in the back. They do not seem new, but they are vacuum sealed and should be tenable.”

“Thanks, pal, that stuff for Cazars is better than anything else I’ve found and it still gives me massive dandruff,” Ratchet replied, sheepishly. “Hopefully it works.”

Clank handed him the bottles, and Ratchet frowned. “Of course I can’t read this, can I? Ah well, it’s a shampoo, not like I need to know what it says.”

Clank grinned internally. This may have been the only time he was glad that Ratchet could not read his people’s tongue; the product was intended for children and had grooming instructions for young parents printed on the side.

“I… guess I should shower, then…?”

“Actually no,” Clank replied. “The, uh, clerk gave me instructions. You’re supposed to be brushed first.”

If Ratchet were humanoid, Clank would be certain that he would be blushing uncontrollably. “Uh… okay… I’ll go… and…”

“Ratchet, **_I_** am undressed.”

“Clank, we don’t just wear clothes to protect us from giant Blargian snagglebeast claws or to look cool,” Ratchet said before blinking a few times and just shucking everything off. “Ah, what the hey. I’m just putting off the inevitable.” He huffed down in the buff, and a small cloud of errant yellow fur erupted around him as he sat. “I really **_do_** need a trim.”

“Next time,” Clank chided, “wait until I have lain down the tarp, Ratchet.”

“Uh… sorry.”

“We need to clean the floor anyway, at this point,” Clank replied, brandishing the brush. “It is not that much a difference. Here, sit still,” Clank said, as he pulled up a chair behind him to brush the top of Ratchet’s head. “I will do you head, back, and arms, and if you want to get everywhere else, I will pass it to you.”

“T… thanks.”

Clank slowly drew the brush along Ratchet’s fur grain, carefully pulling out any snags and noting how quickly the wire bristles filled up with fur. He twisted out the growing clump of yellows and browns, before running the brush down Ratchet’s nape.

“Eep!” Ratchet squeaked, as his ears shot straight up. “Warn a guy!”

“I thought you knew I would be taking care of this.”

“Sorry, I started dozing off. This… yeah, I’ll admit it. I liked being brushed out.”

“You were mocked as a child, then?”

“Hah, the only lombax in the orphanage? Course I was.”

“Fan out your ears, Ratchet,” was Clank’s only reply, as he reached out and began running the brush along the spot where ear met the side of his head. Ratchet rumbled.

“And there’s another reason,” Ratchet said, in between soft purring.

“If it makes you feel better,” Clank finally said, as be started pulling the brush from the base to tip of the ear, “you know I laugh whenever you do repairs to my ion coils.”

Ratchet snorted, and mocked Clank’s distinct giggle. Clank laughed for real in reply, and Ratchet joined back in with a hearty hoarse laugh of his own, half chuckle and half purr, as he relaxed into the brush.

“Thanks, buddy, I needed that,” Ratchet finally sputtered out, as his ears slowly drooped down.

“From what I’ve gathered,” Clank said, changing the subject as he began working down the thickest fur on Ratchet’s back, “lombaxes relied very heavily on touch, socially. Grooming was an important part of the parent child bond.” Clank had thought that it had probably been some sort of marketing language on the side of the bottle of shampoo, but the conditioner, made by an entirely different company, had a similar set of instructions and information printed on it as well.

“Parents… groomed their kids?”

“Yes,” Clank replied. “And I learned something new today.”

“Oh?” Ratchet asked, followed by a small startled meow and a raised ear as Clank pulled at a knot under his left shoulder blade.

“My apologies,” Clank said sheepishly, untangling the wire. “Lombaxes under a year of age are supposed to be cleaned by being licked by their parents. Only those older than ten months or so are supposed to switch to a chemical agent like shampoo.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“Says the person who regularly licks his nose,” Clank teased.

“Hey, it dries out, and I just… something in my head tells me that I’m supposed to. I have no frame of reference at all!” Ratchet slumped a little, and sniffed. Clank pulled back.

“I… I don’t even know what’s supposed to be normal,” Ratchet said quietly, as he pulled his knees tightly to his chest and thumped his tail on the floor. “Heck, I didn’t even know I was still a child, lombax life-cycle wise, until I met Allister. I thought I’d stopped growing and I was just supposed to be this size.” Ratchet buried his face into his knees, muffling a cry.

“The lombaxes did not disappear **_that_** long ago, “ Clank said, rubbing gentle circles on Ratchet’s back. “Only two decades or so, no? There are still people who know about them.”

“Not going to Croid,” Ratchet mumbled into his knees.

“I did not suggest as such. Frankly, the man is still not entirely **_all there_** , in my opinion. I am sure there are others. Anyone studying lombaxes in their prime is only going to be between fifty and seventy now. And, from what I understand, lombaxes themselves have a very long life-span.”

Ratchet put up a finger in protest. “Long **_natural_** life span.”

“Well, with the way you act,” Clnak replied jokingly, poking him with the brush, “you may not make it into adulthood.”

Ratchet snorted, and whipped Clank with his tail.

* * *

 

“You are actually supposed to take a bath, Ratchet,” Clank said, as he set the cleaned-out brush on the floor as Ratchet stretched out, marveling at the small stuffed animal’s worth of yellow fuzz littering the space around where he had sat.

“Says who?”

“The packaging. You are supposed to rub it into your fur and sit in a tub of hot water for twenty minutes or so, then drain the tub and rinse off. The conditioner goes on after you are done rinsing.”

Ratchet perked an ear and blinked. “Geez. Guess even shampoo bottle instructions are important. That’s weird.”

“Do you need me to get your back for you again?”

Ratchet shook his head as he stood up proper. “You always seem to have my back, pal.”

* * *

 

“Ratchet,” Clank chided, over the hum of the electric razor, “if you do not cease giggling and smacking me with your tail, I will sit on it. Or worse, take off too much and leave you balding in spots.”

* * *

 

The hum of the razor finally died off, Clank picked up the wire brush again and quickly ran through his work, removing neatly shaven fur ends in long, quick strokes, Ratchet’s head again between his knees.

This time, in the throes of relaxed slumber, snoring like a chainsaw.

* * *

 

At some point, Ratchet rolled over, curled up like a pet crumtofox, while clank cleaned off the floor of the last remnants of Ratchet’s cut fur. He had half a mind to send the bag of shavings to the Annihilation Nation announcer for his continual comments about shaving lombaxes, but twist tied the bag and threw it down the building’s trash chute, against, his better judgment.

He threw a blanket over his snoring friend, lowered his audio sensors to emergency frequency only, and pulled up the IRIS access port.

If anyone knew a Polaris xeno-zoologist specializing in Fastoon, she would.


End file.
